


We'll Meet Again

by Nico_Weetch



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Abortion Discussion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Avocado dad, Cheese, Dark Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post s3 in Ch2, String of Fate, human death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 13:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nico_Weetch/pseuds/Nico_Weetch
Summary: Perhaps there is no such thing as love at first sight, but what about second or third or fourth or…?





	1. Don't Know Where or When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post s3 shenanigans in the next chapter.

1

The camp placement in the countryside on the outskirts of some newly developing city was damp. A rainstorm just finished passing through and many members outside were trying to find dry firewood and use what little of it effectively.

 _This is what happens when one doesn’t follow precautionary measures_ , was the snide thought through a young Stricklander. Not that he cared, most trolls in the camp didn’t need the heat, the other half sleeping and waiting for the night. There were few changelings in the camp, and fewer humans. Their presence a moderate amusement as Stricklander watched them look for usable wood, and help fellow half-breeds in their daytime efforts, without little no how that they would be the first to be eaten when food was scarce. _Helpful to the end_ , he mused while entering his own tent.

Despite being new to the camp itself Stricklander had arrived with Morgana’s blessings being one of the first few changelings, and carrying what other half breeds called ‘the gift of her eyes.’ Most changelings don’t remember the Pale Lady, some see her face in foggy dreams and haunting images behind their eyelids, some speak of hearing her voice. Though the older the changeling becomes, the less they remember. But those eyes.

All the same Stricklander used the inherent awe his fellows gave him to fuel his own ambitions. Did he believe them? There was no straight answer to this. Not at this time at least.

While adjusting his cot for a quick power nap he felt something shift beneath the hemp blankets. Procuring a blade from his collar he quickly opened up the blankets, if anything to scare whatever was hiding there. Perhaps goblin.

“mrrrraaaw.”

Perhaps not.

The orange maine coon looked up at him, almost bored. Stricklander returned the blade to its origin and jeered at the small beast. Picking it up by its scruff, he considered the maine coon, and considered how hungry he was.

Most would eat the creature right then and there, hungry or not take the food that’s given to you while you can. 

The maine coon yawned at him, and attempted to pad at his protruding nose every time he brought it closer to his face with deadpan softness. With its paws on his nose, the furry cat gave him pause.

He plopped himself onto his cot with a huff, and brought the maine coon away from his face, “The instant I’m hungry you’re done for.” He told it, seeing no need to eat when not hungry, despite every internal instinct telling him to do so.

He released the cat and watched it drop soundlessly on the ground with ease. It stared at him, and then sauntered to some corner of the tent. Not at all appreciating the mossy wet flooring after enjoying the dryness of Stricklander’s cot. Laying on his side Stricklander idly watched it explore about. Growing heavy lidded as the maine coon gnawed on a leaf.

Upon slowly opening his eyes he could swear the maine coon was floating in front of him. Blinking and letting his eyes focus he realized the floating was rather the cat curled up on his stomach and rising and falling along with it. 

“Bah!” he went sitting up, and as if on cue the cat skidded off of him and onto the floor. It stretched gave Stricklander a deadpan gaze and stalked away.

In the emptiness of his tent, something made Stricklander think perhaps scaring it wasn’t best.

 

They had moved camp three times now, and Stricklander had forgotten all about his four legged cot mate. Until he found a dead rat in his cot. He would have thought it was a practical joke if it weren’t for the telltale orange hairs surrounding it. He shook his head and horns in a huff and chucked it outside to the first goblin he saw.

 

The next visit came sooner than expected. That night actually, after a rather egregious argument he returned to his tent to nurse a wound on his right arm. It wasn’t irrevocably damaged, thank Morgana, but enough. Slumping on his cot with a groan he hardly noticed he wasn’t alone until a tail swatted the side of his face.

This caused another groan, but for another reason.

“I don’t know what is more remarkable, the fact that you haven’t been eaten yet or the fact that I haven’t – eaten you.” The tail swatted his face again, and he felt soft wet paws on his nose.

“Just how many lives you got left in you?” he asked it as it stretched itself, and walked over his face to reposition a little closer to his right and injured arm.

“You should leave…” the maine coon stared at him, “it is for the best. Someone here is bound to get hungry,” the staring contest continued between the two of them, and Stricklander could have sworn there was a spark behind those intelligent eyes, “you realize you’re dancing with death being here –yes?”

However, there is no rationalizing with a cat. Stricklander’s stomach growled, though he couldn’t hear it over the maine coon’s purring. Its small very skull squish-able face tucked itself into the crook of his elbow.

His clawed hands hovered over its ears, and despite himself he started to pet it with a sigh. It was nice, no beyond nice – consolingly satisfying.

 

A fortnight later Stricklander saw the same furry limbs protruding from a fellow troll’s mouth. Feeling a great pain he vowed then and there never to eat a cat, and took out his anger and sadness on the first human he saw. Making a meal out of them, hungry or not.

 

2

Their encampment was moving somewhere in the countryside of what would later be known as Sweden. There were reports of an enemy encampment being sheltered in a human village just beyond the hills. The sun was either rising, or setting, the changeling honestly couldn’t tell anymore, and his feet were too worn and sore from marching with the rest to care. The rising fog was getting thicker though.

Despite his suggestion to fly ahead and scout about, Bular decided against it (it would have been the right thing to do- yet Bular resented how it was propositioned, something Stricklander would have to get better at).

Though if he had flown ahead, he wouldn’t have been able to hear what happened next.

An eerie voice called throughout the thick wood, echoing off the barks of trees and moss. It even gave Bular the Vicious pause, sending cold shivers up the regiment’s spines. Hushed voices in the ranks, especially from the changelings, whispered of The Pale Lady. Some even hoped it was Morgana herself come to free them of their servitude. A quite muted electricity started to buzz through the ranks. Bular, not wanting to lose control of his command ordered Stricklander forward.

“Scout ahead. If it is your Lady Fair we’ll be that much closer to victory, and if her service requires a sacrifice…well, I see no reason for it to not be The Emerald One himself.”

Stricklander raised himself from his knee, bowed, and silently stalked into the brush. Changeling whispers growing behind him before he heard them silenced by Bular’s growl of “ _Impures_.”

 

He followed the eerie cries through the fog, bracing himself and his stone heart for the best and worst. What he expected was not what he saw.

A woman in pale clothes and a gray kerchief over her head, a brilliant blaze of fiery red braids rippling through the mist of an open field. He barely saw the house in the distance, less than ever the surrounding mountains through the fog.He could hear the distant ringing of cattle bells. Ah, a heard caller. But this voice.

Stricklander felt as though he trespassed on some sacred Fae ground, but there she stood kulning in the thickening fog in all her human glory.

“ **Remarkable**.” Escaped him in trollish before he could stop himself, and in that moment he realized he had been holding his breath to boot.

The herder turned, and thank the Pale Lady he changed to his human form fast enough for her not to see anything.

Her eyes were wide, there was a fierceness in her fear that took him aback. Her hand tightened on a small dagger.

Stricklander raised his empty hands in surrender.

“I mean you no harm.” He lied, sort of, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Leave stranger. We have no food to spare, and want no trouble with you.”

“I have no where to leave to, I’m afraid. I’ve been lost in these woods for quite sometime.”

She raised her dagger higher as Stricklander dared another step forward. “I have no right to ask of food or shelter, but won’t you spare this lost man some water?”

The jingling cowbells in the distance were quieting, and her brow furrowed.

“Fine. But keep your distance, and sit there until I’m done. I need to bring in the cows from the field.” she motioned him to the side with her dagger.

A smile of relief washed over him, “you have my deepest thanks” and he gave a deep bow to this human. Settling himself on a patch of moss, her dagger lingered on him before tucking it away. She brought her slender hands to her mouth, inhaled and was stopped by Stricklander’s own voice, “I’m Walther, by the way…what is your name?”

Why did he ask? Why did he care?

She exhaled her held breath with a huff. Her deep blue eyes stared at him with an unreadable look for a long time before answering, “Varvara.”

She started to kula again. It sent shivers down the halfbreed’s spine. Her voice was far more potent up close than at a distance, and yet the cowbell sounds picked up again, and were getting closer.

He found himself wanting to get closer as well. It was such a magical sound Stricklander scarcely believed humans were capable of. A paradox of fragility and strength he’ll end up thinking of for years to come. It was the hanging silence between breaths that really tugged at Stricklander’s soul, as the cows approached more and more, now visible through the fog, so did his curiosity for this human.

 

With the heard rounded and brought to their pens the human Varvara fetched the changeling a pale of water, and (much to his surprise) a crust of bread as well.

He wanted to ask and say so many things, yet all he managed was a quiet, “Thank you.”

She dug her clog in the dirt and looked out into the fields.

“Its getting late.”

“I suppose it is.” He gasped after finishing a deep drink.

“You may sleep in the barn Walther. For this night, and this night only.”

“I’ll be gone by morning.”

“Good.” She started to turn.  
“I-ah…your voice.”

She stopped and slowly looked at the man posing as Walther. “What about it?”

“Its…its rather beautiful…when I heard it, I for sure thought I was about to enter the Otherworld.”

“Kulning is good for the farm beasts, but to bring about beasts from the Otherworld? Or to _be_ one? Now that would be something.” Her laughter was as surprisingly jolly as the cowbells for one so previously wooden. “You’re not from the Otherworld yourself, are you Walther?” there was a strange glint in her deep blue eyes.

“Me?” he swallowed, “No…just a fool who doesn’t know left from right and a hill from a tree.”

“Not surprising in this summer fog.” She nodded.

A silence fell between them, neither of them moved. It was companionable to say the least, bordering on the awkward. Stricklander followed her gaze out into the fields where crickets started to chirp.

“Thank you for the bread…I know you mentioned you were short on food…you really shouldn’t have.”

“I lied.” She shrugged, “wanted to get the feel of you first. See if you were someone worth giving bread to.”

This warranted a hearty laugh from Stricklander, “Fair, very fair.”

“We live in trying times.”

“It’s a very trying world.” He looked down at the crust of bread in his hand, “but its comforting to know there is still softness to be found in it.”

They looked at each other and shared a smile.

“Goodnight then. Until tomorrow Walther.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I have to go into town anyways, might as well show you to some civilization before you scare the next herder you stumble on.”

“Oh I don’t need that! I’ve taken too much of your kindness already.” What would he tell Bular? What if he showed himself here? Why should he care??

She stretched her arms up and tightened her shawl closer to herself. “Fine, fine…but as payment for my kindness…come inside…tell me of your travels then.”

Stricklander stared at her dumbfounded. It was only moments ago she was telling him to sleep in a barn. Was this her continued testing to see if he was worthy? The halfbreed never felt smaller or less worthy in his life (so far).

Reluctant and torn, he conceded. The two entered into Varvara’s house spending the night about the fireplace. Him telling stories and spinning tales and histories for this recently manufactured ‘Walther’.They talked at great length through the night, their laughter joining the chorus of crickets and frogs outside, finding a sort of repose in the other’s presence. To the point that they fell asleep side by side as the fire slowly died in the hearth.

Before the sun could rise again, and the rooster could make its cry, Stricklander left the fair cow herder. Though not without bumping his forehead ever so gently against her sleeping face in thanks.

“ **Thank you.** ” Rumbled his trollish voice like distant thunder.

She awoke to the sound of wings in the distance.

 

3

Stricklander stared down at an open coffin. A wealthy woman with auburn long braided hair clasped a sword entwined in lavender over her still chest. Gold pieces over her eyes. 

Screams of chaos and a growing fire echoed in the distance. They were raiding a town just off the coast of some icy nordic land. Yet despite the ever-mounting cries, there was a hollowed quiet in this hall.

His eyes passed from the well-dressed corpse to a portrait. It would seem this family was wealthy enough for a painting of the deceased. He had to commend the painter for their work. Something about how they captured those light gray eyes made them look centuries older than the owner themselves.

He looked back at the corpse. Half tempted to remove the gold coins with a morbid fascination to see for himself.

Stricklander wondered to himself just who this person was in life. Were they kind? Did they laugh? Did they love? Did they dance? Did they sing?

“Whoever you are, rest well…you certainly dodged a tragedy despite dying so young and fair.” And he lit the casket with his torch and set the room ablaze.

Leaving the empty hollowed hall without looking back. He rejoined the murderous fray.

 

4

He never thought he’d find himself back in the Mediterranean peninsula. Yet here Stricklander was on the East coast of the peninsula infiltrating a celebration of vices.

“Carnevale!” the drunken masked people would sing, slushing their wine into the air.

“Carnevale!” they would sing, throwing stale rice at one another.

“Carnevale!” giggled the children while dropping eggs from their windows to unsuspecting passerbyers.

A sealed note of invitation in his hand, Stricklander’s heeled shoes echoed with his jaunty step through the damp cobbled roads.

The square was lit with song and dance, music and pissing, and in darker distant areas; even fornication.

The energy was as toxic as the wine, but he had a job to get done.

Presenting his sealed invitation to a guard, Stricklander was invited off the street and into the warm lit city palazzo. The high ceiling with celestial frescos and nudes practically pointed and guided the way. Busts of marble of the head of the family on the side of the threshold eyed Stricklander suspiciously.

He removed his cloak, handing it to the nearest house domestic and brushed his braided ponytail aside with a flourish. His gilded silver goat like mask glinted in the lights as he entered into the fray of the celebrating upper-class.

The hunt was on.

It was the most fun attempting to kill someone he had in quite a while. Dancing, passing jokes and wit as those around him became more and more inebriated. The chandeliers billowing with their candles as the party members swayed in their intoxicated dance.

He was close to his target, testing his target, getting to know his target. While all the while noticing someone making eyes at him from afar, someone as cool headed as he was while in the throws of warm celebration.

This could be problematic. Especially if this someone were to follow him when Stricklander was to do the deed.

Putting a pause on his hunt he sauntered over to this onlooker through the crowd. A gentleman with an ornate sun mask; whose eyes glinted through the eyeholes. They exchanged false names, talked of trivial things, dared the other to drink more.

There was a sort of shared magnetism between what little shared space there was, and with all the laughter and excitement…well the gentleman was certainly of high standing to be at this party, perhaps he could be used in Stricklander’s favor.

Yes, he thought, as they shared an embrace behind a pillar. Yes, he thought as the two dangerously played with the other’s mask, risking unfurling them. Yes, he thought upon conceding to leave together for someplace quiet.Yes, that was why.

But first to give farewells to their host, and to finish the hunt.

“Carnevale!” the partygoers would cheer and salute.

“Carnevale!” the dying gasp of the hunted would breath in a bush.

“Carnevale!” he and the gentleman would pant and breathe together when they found that someplace quiet.

Ah what vice indeed.

 

5

It was Stricklander’s fifth tutoring position since the creation of the printing press. Political and religious tensions were rising in the human world, and yet _another_ war was bound to break out because of it. _Well with human chaos comes easy to grab positions of power_ , he consoled himself while feeding a field cat.

He petted the fragile little creature and started up the road to the manor he was hired/(self) assigned to instruct at. The Order of Janus was coming along rather nicely, and high standing positions meant easier leeway to get away with certain things. Not to mention involvement in the future to come, (but these were discussions for another time).

While coming up the dirt path he heard the galloping of horse hooves and braying of hounds from behind. A quick sidestep and glance told him it was Adalae one of his current charges rushing to the manor.

She halted her horse at the sight of him while her wolfhounds took a slight victory lap around them. One of which tried to jump on Stricklander and lap kisses at his face.

“Ah! Many greetings Herr Striken! Finja get off the good man!” she scowled at the hound still trying to give Stricklander kisses. 

“Greetings indeed.” He grunted, pushing the hound off of him, “Running late?”

“No later than you I expe-“ she raised a hand to stop herself further.

The corner of his mouth dared to curve. Out of all the children of the family Adalae perhaps wasn’t the brightest but certainly the most daring filled with wit. It was a shame he could only teach her how to further her bible reading, and writing. Stricklander had a hunch she’d enjoy her studies more if there was more variety. Sometimes he snuck in Latin (though that was more his own personal want for the language to continue, it was doubtful seeing as things were printed in the vernacular these days and was typically used by the so called ‘elite’. Shame).

“Well I hope Gustav isn’t running later than either of us are, for his sake.” 

A pheasant cried in the distance taking flight as the hounds, which startled it, brayed.

“Quiet you lot! C’mon then!” came Adalae’s command, “leave the poor thing alone.”

Stricklander looked up at the sky and tried his luck to guess what the weather would be, “Well…go on then, I’ll meet you inside. Better warn Fabienne of my arrival as well, I hope he’s been practicing those ‘f’s”

Adalae flashed a smile at her tutor, “Of course Herr Striken.” And galloped ahead of him with a sharp whistle. Her accompaniment of wolfhounds following after her in a chorus of barks and howls.

 

Two weeks later Stricklander paced about the room as three little humans practiced their cursive.The ticking of the clock was nerve racking enough, but the consistent barking was another thing.

“Shouldn’t she be back from riding by now?”

“Yes Herr Striken.” Came little Fabienne’s response, his legs kicking above the floor as he worked on his ‘g’s.

The barking continued.

The barking continued?

“I’ll alert Fräulein Margaret I’m stepping out. Keep to your studies.”

“Yes Herr Striken.” Was the choral response as Stricklander stepped out.

As Stricklander approached the door the barking became louder. He was surprised to find Finja just barking from the other side alone. It was those loud boisterous barks that nearly hurt the ears and caused one to impulsively blink.

He furrowed his brow and looked at the closest field hand, “How long has this been going on?” he demanded.

“We tried feeding ‘em.” Was the unceremonious response.

Meanwhile Finja kept barking and circling Stricklander, then would run up the field, run back to Stricklander and repeat.

This didn’t bode well for the half-breed.

They later found poor Adalae’s horse in the field, and poor Adalae herself. As strong a wit as she had, it wasn’t strong enough to sustain damage from a spooked horse. Her skull cracked.

Finja cried over the child, and tried licking her wound. It pained Stricklander to shoo it away while her parents approached to surround their now dead daughter. Her father shot the horse, her sobbing mother cradled Adalae.

Stricklander patted the whining Finja, who licked his hands and leaned their weight against him, while scanning the forest to try and catch any hint of what could have spooked the horse.

 

He later had some stern words for Otto.

 

6

The Reign of Terror was not a popular time for royals, especially those wishing to keep their heads. Despite playing his hand on both sides, Stricklander found himself enjoying the richer side of things before the Revolution broke out, and now had to escape to England with a few other royals to keep appearances.

 

His connections were perhaps the only reason that kept his head from the chopping block, well the human one that is. He was sure Bular was having a hilarious time imagining Stricklander in prison.

Though despite himself he couldn’t help but feel solace in being in prison. For one it was very Bular free. After his time in the American Revolutionary War he felt he earned a break, a mini albeit _disgusting_ vacation from his usual duties, he reasoned.At least that was what he thought for the first few months.

Come month three and he was about as filled with abominable dread as the rest, maybe more. How long would it take for Otto to arrange this shenanigan? _Never again_ , he promised himself.

He wasn’t even human for the Pale Lady’s sake! Yet here he was tempering his patience and trying to convince himself not to eat his cellmate. His cellmate was already considered going mad, claiming to see glowing eyes in the night.

At least there was Rosalie who would bring their daily crust of bread. Or rather, chuck their crust of bread followed by spitting at them.

“Soon you will have your deaths.”

“Charming as always Rosalie, thank you.” His voice dry and raspy through Stricklander’s growing beard.

She hucked a rather moist spit for him personally, who knew such blue eyes could look like a blazing fire? He could swear they glinted in the dim light.

Ah, charming Rosalie. He wondered what she’d taste like, what it would sound like to break her neck. Everyone’s neck for that matter.

Yet all he could consolidate himself with was the crunch of his bread…which felt harder than usual. Rubbing the scruff of his beard Stricklander stared at it suspiciously.

With a bit of breaking he was able to find inside a scarlet pin. He hid it away, and with a new flutter of hope that plans of escape were finally in motion, shared his bread with his cellmate.

 

It was the dead of night, some godforsaken hour. Though time was lost to the changeling at this point. When the distinct sound of a struggle was heard from just beyond their cells.

Stricklander’s eyes widened, getting up to his feet, using the bars for help in stability.

“Fersen.” His voice low and hoarse, “Fersen wake up.”

He staggered closer to his cellmate on the floor, and Stricklander suddenly became more aware of how quiet it was.

He cursed himself for ever considering this as a miniature vacation from Bular. For ever being mean to his cellmate and taunting him about seeing things. How could he have forgotten how frail humanity was?!

“Fersen please…” he was shaking him now, “Fersen.” He didn’t mean what he said about wishing his death! It was the prison talking it was the starvation the cold and damp, the inhumane conditions. You aren’t human, screamed a voice inside him.

His cell door creaked and opened, and there stood a blonde man just passing into adulthood.

“I am Oscar.” He whispered, “I’ve come to help get you safe passage to England.” There was something familiar about the voice, but Stricklander didn’t care.

“Fersen.” He tried again, “Fersen _please_ , we can leave…” there was a fly crawling on Fersen’s face.

Oscar entered the cell and kneeled beside him, “I’m sorry for your friend.” He said rather low.

 _What took so long_ , Stricklander wanted to roar, he could feel his eyes wanting to glow.

At the feel of a gentle touch on his shoulder Stricklander snapped his head around full of rancor, and gasped to find a pair of fiery blue eyes looking back at him.

“Rosali-!!!“ he gasped, his mouth quickly muffled.

“It is Oscar, for tonight.” She relinquished her hand from Stricklander’s mouth slowly, “Now come monsieur…there has been enough death.”

Stricklander didn’t move, his voice was so low he barely heard it himself, as moister collected about his beard, “I didn’t mean it…I- I’m so sorry Fersen, I – I should have been kinder.” his attention returned to Ferson, and his tears continued to silently fall.

Oscar looked over her shoulder as the rest of her team was helping the other prisoners out. She sighed made the sign of the cross and bowed her head over the dead Fersen.

“May this be a lesson to you monsieur, to be kinder so you may not regret it when it is too late. We live in such trying times.”

“It’s a trying world.” He croaked, “Adieu Fersen…I’m sorry.” He patted his cellmate’s chest and swatted the fly away from his face.

Oscar helped Stricklander to his feet and with an arm over her they left the prison. The fly returned to Fersen’s face. 

 

When the party reached a secured canal that would take them to the docks it was time to say farewell. By then Stricklander’s tears were dry, and he could walk a little better on his own.

“I’ll…I’ll keep what I learned here to heart.”

Oscar’s mouth curved with a warm smile, “You will try…it is all anyone can do, monsieur. With that…I should apologize for my treatment of you in the prison.”

“You did what you had to, to keep up appearances.”

Oscar nodded, “But it was you and dear Fersen who felt its effects.”

“Well…I’m certainly not the man who can speak for Fersen, but I for one forgive you…and thank you.”

Oscar smiled again, and Stricklander found himself smiling as well.

“Will you be staying?”

“In France? Of course, she is my home, and I must do what I can for her people.”

“I hope this trying world isn’t too trying for you in your endeavors…”

Oscar laughed and those blue eyes glinted and danced. Stricklander felt a hand on his gaunt face.

“Adieu, Adieu..” she kissed each side of his cheeks, and the two shared a tender if not brief stare.

Taking her hand in his, he kissed her hand and whispered oh so close to her ear, “ _Adieu_.”

 

7

The moors were dark and misty and Stricklander was making his rounds on the grounds with the graveyard’s own wolfhound. There had already been 7 murders in Edinburgh, not that it worried him much. It did strike curiosity in Stricklander though.

It was then that he noticed a bobbing light through the rising mist. A more superstitious man would have thought it something otherworldly, but the changeling and his kind were the superstition people spoke of.

Stricklander hushed at the growling dog, petting it to be still, and slowly encroached on the intruder.

It was a woman dressed in black, her face covered with a black kerchief shoveling through one of the graveyard’s fresher graves (an unfortunate not so richly owned grave, otherwise it would have a mortsafe). His eyes darted about to see if she was alone, usually resurrectionists had at least one other person with them, if only to help carry the body.

Yet here she was, alone, thinking she could steal the resting corpse all on her own. Stricklander stood up from behind the gravestone he was crouched behind.

“Excuse me.” He presented himself.

The woman jolted and muffled her own scream, dropping the shovel in the process. Her bright blue eyes pierced through the night. She fumbled for the resting shotgun on the ground. He hadn’t noticed that detail, clumsy of him.

Stricklander picked up his pace, and placed his foot over the shotgun. She glared at him, and brandished a knife. This caused him to pop his brows up in surprise. Adrenaline high, she went to plunge the knife, unfortunate for her the changeling hadn’t lived through a multitude of lifetimes and wars to not be able to disarm her with ease.

“Hell’s teeth! Easy there lass!”

“Ach! Let go of me you finagling goblin!”

He aught to cut her down right here for that remark alone, finagling sure, but _goblin_?!

Instead her voice reminded him of someone, someone familiar? He looked down at her struggling form, and dodged a kick as he unveiled her.

“Miss Onora! Now who is the finagling one,” if there was one thing Stricklander always appreciated of Scotland it was their dry wit and dripping irony, “I didn’t expect to see you here at this hour, least of all in Kreiggston’s yard.” She tried to kick him in the shins this time. “Now would ye calm down?!”

She was starting to hyperventilate now, and Stricklander was growing genuinely concerned.

“Oi, oooi..” he slowly let her go, while simultaneously pushing the knife and shotgun away from her.She breathed, deeper and steadier, and just when Stricklander thought all was well, she quickly bent down to pick up her shovel to try striking him with it.

This he caught with ease, and a deadpan glare.

“That’s enough of that now you little shite.” Onora wouldn’t meet his eyes (and a good thing too, for they glowed for a brief second there) as he wretched the shovel from her.

“Oh I’m done for, aren’t I?”

“Indeed you are! Now what’s the meaning of this? And what did old Bunsen here do to you?” he pointed at the molested grave with the shovel.

She pulled a handkerchief from within her sleeve and brought it up as if to cry.

“Now none of that ya faker.”

She grimaced at him. Being called out, and out of tactics she could think of Onora relented with exasperation, “Well alright then! I was ‘bout to spirit Bunsen here away, happy?”

“No, obviously not.”

“I’m just a little short on cash, and I know a doctor who could use a cadaver. Bunsen here, being fresh and all, would pay a pretty price…maybe enough to go to Edinburgh.”

“Can’t you do that already with your family’s standing?”

Onora shifted where she stood, using the handkerchief to dab at her sweating forehead instead of fake tears.Eyes set on him, still fierce.

“Aye I ‘suppose, but that wouldn’t help me to convince Johnson to let me sit in on Dr. Robert Knox’s _special_ lectures now would it?” she huffed, “They’re starting to put limits on how often I can see him too! I only got so many visits left before they say I’ll get in the way of his studies and stop me from visiting my own brother all together!” She bundled up the handkerchief projecting her frustration on it, “Yet they don’t listen when it comes to my own studies!”

Stricklander sighed, his own temper settling. It wouldn’t do either of them good if they were both angry and frustrated.

“And what’s getting in the way of your studies then?” he leaned on her shovel.

Her eyes snapped, as she gestured furiously to all of her womanly self.

“Ah.” How silly of him.

“Ah indeed, sir! Ah indeed!”Her cheeks red under her flurried freckled face, her nose scrunched in her pause, “I don’t want to just be a nurse. I…I just want to learn more, be able to do more, you know?”

The changeling listened and said nothing; this brought her on to continue.

“It was already like pulling teeth to convince my family to pursue a medical career! One physician in the family is enough. They just wanted me to get _married_ , or become one of the local teachers if anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that mind ye.” She looked up at the unmoving sky and stars above; her voice shook ever so slightly, “but this…this, this is a calling I tell you. I feel it in my bones, and it just, isn’t fair.” She looked back at Stricklander with those big blue watery eyes with a real risk of tears this time.

He breathed through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, “Alright, I yield.” Taking the misused handkerchief from her hands and dabbing her eyes some. She looked bewildered to say the least as he stared her down, though not unkindly. “Though answer me this quick one Miss Onora: how would you move old Bensen here on your own? You got a system in waiting? Is the good doctor even aware he’ll receive it? And when you do get your money why would you use it to bribe your _dear_ brother Johnson - keep it yourself for your own trips to Edinburgh.”

Onora’s mouth started to hang the more Stricklander spoke, though she only realized this until it was her time to talk, “My own trips? H-how would I get into the lectures if I don’t bribe him?”

Stricklander thought for a moment, and looked Onora over as something tugged inside of him especially when he stared into those starry glinting eyes, “Have you ever given any thought about pretending to be a man?”

She stole her handkerchief back and whapped him with it, “Sacrilege! The _scandal_!”

This provoked a guttural laugh from Stricklander as he gestured again to the grave, “And this isn’t?”

Her cheeks flushed redder and it was harder to see her freckles because of it.  
“There’s a difference.” She defended hypocritically.

“Oh, aye! Is there now?” he said with jollity, his laughing subduing to a slow chortle, then a sigh, “Listen Miss Onora. You came here full of conniving intention to spirit a dead man away, maybe even kill someone in the process.” He nudged his head to the forgotten shotgun for emphasis before turning back to her, “all for the sake of furthering your education in a world that’s put against ya from birth. And you’re telling me, after nearly gutting me like a fish, you couldn’t risk passing off as a man?”

Her blush reached her hairline now as she bowed her head.

He inwardly sighed and patiently waited before saying, in a gentler tone, “Listen, you don’t have to answer me right this very minute, or ever for that matter. In the meantime…” he paused not believing himself for saying this, “…lets get Bunsen here to see a doctor, he looks peaked as it is.”

Her face shot up, as another kind of watery tears filled those oceanic eyes. Neither of them knew who believed it more, or less. Stricklander for saying it or her for hearing it.

“Do…do ya mean that Mr. Stirling?”

“Please, we’re already about to dig up a dead corpse together, call me Wallace.”

“Then it’s a pleasure doing business with ya, Wallace.” she couldn’t stop smiling, at least until she remembered something, “But what about your standing here? Won’t you risk loosing your job?”

Stricklander looked out to the moors in the direction of the main building of Kreiggston’s yard, and thought how deep beneath it was the refurbished workings of the Janus Order.

“Och, what better way to steal from a grave than with the help from a gravekeeper?” was his roguish reply, grin spreading. “Besides, these are trying times.”

“Quite the trying world, too.” She said picking up her shotgun to keep as lookout.

Not that they would need it, it was only the two of them and the wolfhound (who after waiting so long fell asleep by the gravestone it was left at).

 

Stricklander and Onora would come to be great friends after that, thick as thieves even, and with a system for selling cadavers that worked rather well in both of their favors. She would further her medical knowledge and deepen her own pockets, and Stricklander handled the bodies (sometimes hiding new ones in the emptied graves), and gained a friend.

They made quite the team, as something more started to blossom, perhaps even a partnership in the works. Out of the many humans Stricklander had encounter she was unquestionably a hot headed favorite.

Yet alas, duty called, and he wasn’t going to stop a plan centuries in the making for anyone. Stricklander had his ambitions after all.

However, that didn’t stop his mind from wandering to Onora now and again between jobs and visits. Thinking of how she might be doing, if her thesis and introduction letter was enough to get into the Edinburgh Medical School, breaking that glass ceiling.

When the scandal of Burke Hare and Dr. Knox was exposed he hoped Onora was intelligent enough to stay out of that affair.

He’d never know, but the rhyme was catchy…he pondered if Onora in her dark humor would have found it catchy as well.

 

Up the close and doon the stair,

But the ben’ wi’ Burke and Hare.

Burke’s the butcher, Hare’s the thief,

Knox the boy that buys the beef.

 

8

The parent teacher conference was nearly over when a frazzled Dr. Lake squeaked through his door crocs and all, with Jim tailing behind her.He didn’t think much of it, and continued on talking about how while teaching freshman history; he’ll also prepare them for sophomore history to come – which usually would go without saying for a teacher, except he would also be teaching sophomore history and would act accordingly (as well as a few offered AP histories).

 

When the conference and barrage of questions, and repeated questions was over the only student parent party left in his room were the Lakes.She walked over with a pacifying smile, deep blue eyes glinting through time and space as she removed her glasses to place on her head, “Mr. Strickler I’m so sorry about coming in so late…and you’re tota-“

“ **Remarkable.** ” He found himself saying in trollish the closer she got to him. There was this strange tugging inside him that came from her voice and eyes as if…

“I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat, “No I’m sorry, something in my throat –yes.” He cleared his throat again for further measure, “Its perfectly alright – ah, Dr. Lake was it?”Glancing at her name tag.

“The one and only.” She nodded and placed a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “In Arcadia – I mean, as in…you get it –got it.” Stricklander offered a smile as she stumbled through her joke.

“I made little folders on the chance parents came in late.” He moved to hand her one, “Its practically everything I said…in truth I could just hand these out to everyone if I didn’t already love the sound of my own voice when talking about my subject.” He bantered.

“Well, that’s really lovely.” She went to place another strand behind her ear, except there wasn’t one to place anywhere, “and the folder is too!”

Stricklander wondered if the doctor just finished her shift. Either way she fought sleep deprivation valiantly enough. It was…endearing.

Jim just eyed the two of them, not entirely sure what was going on. Though it was nice to see them get along so fast.

To which, with the obliviousness of youth Jim ended up asking, “You must really like history then.”

Stricklander appraised the young Jim Lake, “Well you’re not wrong there Jim. Sometimes I like it so much it feels like I’ve been there myself. Not an odd statement though, when it comes to passions.”

“Jim here is very good at cooking.” Chirped in Dr. Lake with a smile while quickly perusing the folder (on the off chance she’d need to ask an immediate question), Jim beamed up at his mom.

“You don’t say! Any specialties in the menu?”

Jim paused in thought, scuffing his sneaker into the ground with a squeak, “Pancakes, French toast…omelets.” It was always hard to think about what you were good at when placed on the spot. Why could he only think of breakfast items?

Luckily Stricklander stopped him with, “that’s quite the powerful combination already!”he looked over at Dr. Lake who was still leafing through the folder and back to Jim, “You know, history is full of very curious meals itself. Now I’m no specialist on the matter – but if you’re interested in it remind me to bring up ortolan bunting when we get to the French Revolution.”

“Ortolan bunting.” Jim repeated aloud in an attempt to remember.

“I’ll write it down for you kiddo.” Came his mom’s voice from behind the folder, who always had a pen on hand as a professional habit.

Stricklander smiled fondly at the pair of them, steepling his hands while leaning against his desk.

“Oh, ugh _sick_.” Went Jim who already searched from his phone, unable to wait, nor want to risk forgetting despite his mom writing it for him.

 _Ah technology_ _we’ve come a long way since the printing press_ , thought Stricklander, “Quite the understatement Mr. Lake.”

“And they seriously covered their faces while eating it?”

“In an attempt to hide themselves from their God while enjoying such a disreputable act.”

“Doubt that went over well. Ugh, the bones too?”

“It was the French Revolution, not a lot of things went over well.” He chuckled.

For one wild moment Stricklander wanted to turn to Dr. Lake and go, _you remember-right?_ Stopping himself from such a silly moment.

“Well I got nothing.” Went Dr. Lake closing the folder and lifting her glasses again to place on her forehead, “Thank you so much for your time Mr. Strickler.”

“The pleasure is all mine Dr. Lake, Mr. Lake.” He nodded to the both of them, “I look forward to having you in my class. You have quite the sharp eye.”

Jim’s smile grew as his chest puffed a bit at the kind statement, and quickly looked up at his mom to see her reaction on it, who was smiling down at him.

“I’ll still remember to bring up the bunting Mr. Strickler, it’ll be fun to watch the whole class cringe.” Jim waved from the door.

Stricklander waved back and gifted another chortle, “Indeed.”

He watched them leave, eyes lingering on Dr. Lake as she adjusted her purse, and rubbed her sleep deprived magic blue eyes. A part of him wanted to call out and tell her to rest well, but the teacher had no place to say such things. Do not forget yourself Stricklander.

He examined the ceiling while hearing Jim from the other side of the door go, “Man, I hope I get him for sophomore year too. He seems pretty cool”

He couldn’t hear what the good doctor’s response was very clearly, but something in her voice tugged at Stricklander that made him oddly want to go, _ah there you are old friend._ Or maybe he was starting to show his age.

 

Jim was a good kid, Stricklander noticed, always taking the time to greet him in the hallways during the hustle and bustle of getting to class.Bright as well, and quite the critical thinker when pushed in the right direction – and not sleeping in class.

“Jim it’s the third time you’ve fallen asleep in my class. Is everything alright?” he asked after class.

“Yeah!” came the impulse response, “Yeah…yeah…”

Stricklander wasn’t entirely convinced, and patiently stared.

“…no.” Jim admitted.

“I see…is it something you would like to talk about?”

Jim looked down at his shoes.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it is alright. My office and ears are always open should you change your mind.”

Stricklander started to move away and give the young adolescent some space when Jim piped up again, “Its just me and my mom.”

“Oh?”

“As in…at home, just the two of us…and I try to help her as much as I can…and sometimes that means waking up super early, or staying up super late. I’m happy to do it! Mom works so hard and her longer shifts can come in out of nowhere sometimes, I…I just want to help.”

“That’s a very kind gesture, Jim. A very genuinely kind gesture. Though I doubt your mother would want you burning your scholastic bridges for her…”

“I can’t just not help her!” Jim protested, already sensing the dissuading tone in Stricklander’s voice.

“No…no of course not.” He evaluated the young man, and conceded with the fact that there would be little room to budge him from helping his mother too much. “Perhaps, might I suggest, a bit of better scheduling then? That way you’re not helping her all at once- especially with those out of the blue long shifts, but rather helping her in little ways that in the grand scheme of things become rather large ways? Argal less to do in one day’s time.”

“You…you’d help me with that?!” the juvenile human looked like it was about to burst with joy and relief. A smile spreading slowly from ear to ear in anticipation.

“The _moment_ I see your grades slipping Mr. Lake I’m afraid I’ll have to have a talk with your mother…” he underlined, “but…yes, I suppose I could help with your scheduling.”

Jim jumped where he stood like a bottle rocket so high that they were almost face to face, “Thank you! Thank you Mr. Strickler!!”

“Yes, well…anytime.”

“Would lunch work out? Today I mean?”

“How about tomorrow’s lunch time. It’ll give you time to organize a list of all the things you do already…and perhaps see if you can make out a mock up plan of your own, and we’ll go from there, hm?”

“You got it Mr. Strickler!”

 

When they did get to the French Revolution that year, Stricklander was surprised that the young Jim Lake Jr. reminded him to talk about ortolan bunting, much to a good portion of the class’s revulsion. Jim snickered the whole way through. Star pupil indeed. He wondered if Jim would end up telling his mom, he wondered how that schedule they made was working. His grades weren’t slipping, so there’s that.Good kid indeed.

 

It would appear Stricklander would be Jim’s teacher yet again for his sophomore year, and the changeling was happy to teach him.

Everything was panning out to be a jolly year. The bridge was underway, almost completed, school wasn’t too tedious, Kanjigar was finally slain. Though he would have to have a chat with Jim’s mother, but then again, he’d get to have a chat with Jim’s mother. Things were coming up Gunmar when-

Stricklander saw it…why, why did he have to see it? No it was for the best that he saw (out of anyone) but…no why Jim?! Why did it have to be Jim??!

Jim’s too young to carry such a weight on his shoulders. Sweet crust of the Earth why did it have to be _Jim_?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs to consider:  
> Vera Lynn - We'll Meet Again (bit on the nose there isn't it? lol)  
> Simon & Garfunkel - Song For the Asking


	2. Some Sunny Day

9

Gunmar’s reign was over; hundreds of displaced changelings were now not only trapped in their troll forms, but veterans of an unbelievably old war. 

Some of which didn’t trust themselves to take care for their own familiars, others risked hurting them in misplaced anger. Trolls that were mutated and changed with the so-called Grace of The Pale Lady, resenting her all the more for it seeing as she did appear and didn’t once mention them. Half-breeds who had the sun now stolen from them, could they even be called half-breeds anymore?The trauma was there, and real, and some would always feel that sword of Damocles still hanging over their heads. Stricklander included, (but this too were topics for another time).

With what money was left over and stashed away in the Janus Order Stricklander did his best to organize and build a foster home and orphanage, with the help of humans by day (and some changelings) and goblins by night.

The building was called The Orbona House, Stricklander was rather proud of himself for thinking of such a name.

His presence there was quite regular being the founder. Holding the occasional fund-raiser, and donating books. Barbara offered up some old movies she’d watch with Jim (though a week later asked for them back, Stricklander could understand it was still a little too soon, but appreciated the gesture).

He’d sometimes sell what was now considered priceless artifacts for a little extra money, getting a little miffed when told perhaps they should be donated.

“See here! Some of these were bought with our own money at the time!” a pause, “Well not all, but _some_!”

Very few children were able to be returned to their parents without suspicion, and some changelings took to raising their own familiars, others weren’t so keen. Stricklander was one of many who felt uncomfortable near their familiar. He didn’t resent the child. Yet being so close made one feel so vulnerable, guilty, among other storms of feelings. A singular proof in an existential time that he wasn’t fully something. Too troll for human kind, too human for troll kind. It reminded him of a discussion he had with Young Atlas before he left to New Jersey.

 

_The air in the garage was stale, some weird fume billowing up from a left over concoction made by Merlin no one was too keen to dispose safely (or knowledgeable). The light flickered with an electrical hum as Stricklander looked at a rather despondent Jim. He was sitting on the cold floor, looking at where his vespa used to be. He didn’t even turn to register Stricklander who walked over closer, sitting on the floor next to him._

_They sat in silence. A long silence, Stricklander started to think perhaps this wasn’t what Jim wanted, least than ever from him. A quick side glance twanged at his paternal heart._

_“It looked like a pretty decent bike from afar, all things considered.”_

_“It did its job.”_

_“Very well might I add, much to my annoyance at the time.” a titter of a chortle escaped Stricklander that he hoped would infectiously pass over to Jim._

_Silence. Stricklander swallowed regretting his tactic to make light of the past._

_“Does it get better?” Jim was tracing his finger through the collected dirt on the hard ground, “This…feeling of…of…” he struggled to find a means to describe it._

_“You have no idea how much I want to say ‘yes’, but I honestly don’t know…like I said before changelings are either one form or the other never…” Stricklander’s voice trailed off as a new thought came to him, “…well…”_

_Jim turned to look at his former teacher, anticipation seizing his eyes, “Well?”_

_“There are moments I can use to help me empathize, scratch the surface of the iceberg of what you might be feeling…”_

_Jim nodded for him to continue._

_Stricklander breathed through his nose, and hoped his words were well chosen, “When our eyes glow, when we shed our skins, when feeling strong emotion…there’s this…shifting under the skin -both stone and flesh- an unstable something that constantly reaches to link hands with the other self. Some called it Morgana’s touch, others proof of our impurity, I personally titled it: the in-between, where everything just meshes together like a twisting current in an ocean…it leaves one feeling a part of something grander and yet at the same time insignificant as seaweed at the mercy of currents.”_

_Stricklander glanced at Jim trying to read how he took this description._

_He himself wasn’t sure, but there was certainly something sparking behind his old pupil’s eyes, signaling something he said might have struck a chord._

_Jim looked down at his two hands, one troll like with less fingers he was used to, the other with five familiar digits._

_“The in-between.” he repeated folding his fingers together. Jim looked at him, “Did you ever feel like, you could get lost in it? What was changing like?”_

_Stricklander closed his eyes in thought, it hasn’t been long enough to forget the feel of changing. The idea of him forgetting haunted him, “Like diving through a wave. Though, some waves are larger to swim through than others. I imagine yours must feel like a tsunami in comparison.”_

_Jim gave an admitting nod, the description was pretty close. When a thought came to him as more meaning in the metaphor washed over him._

_Jim’s eyebrows perked, “You think I can…I’ll be able to…” he couldn’t bring himself to say it._

_“Like a rather titular Man-Cub your inner strength and heart will be your guide. ‘Jim will drive Jim’.” was his obscure reference, looking at Atlas’s expression he clarified, “I’m confident you’ll manage to make it to other side of that wave, Young Atlas, whatever it may be to you.” he placed a consoling hand on Jim’s shoulder. “It’ll be hard, sometimes it’ll be worse before it gets better, but never forget you’re not alone.” His former student sighed, perhaps, in relief._

_Stricklander gave him a fatherly shake, “And unlike Mowgli neither pack be it human or troll has or -if I have any say about it - will cast you out.” for a brief moment it felt as though they traveled back in time, a time before amulets. Stricklander quoted Kipling from the heart, “As Mang [the bat] flies between the beasts and the birds so fly I between the village and jungle. Why? …These two things fight together in me as the snakes fight in the spring…I am two Mowglis, but the hide of Shere-Khan is under my feet.”_

_“Geeze how many references you got there?” Jim quipped, though mood clearly brighter._

_“Didn’t you read The Jungle Books for your summer reading? I thought for once I was making a reference you understood.”_

_“Grapes of Wrath.” Jim shrugged grinning through his underbite, rather lopsidedly. Stricklander theatrically passed his hands around the floor as if looking for something, “What are you…?”_

_“Looking for my pearls before the swine gobble them.” was Stricklander’s jolly taunt._

_Jim snorted and let out a, “Pfff.” through his teeth, “More like trying to show off how much you know.”_

_“Is that so?”_

_“Very much.” Jim started to get up, “Honestly its borderline Riddler crazy how you leave a reference.”_

_Stricklander blinked the reference flying over his head like an out of stadium home run, while also getting up._

_Jim’s face showed a great amount of glee relishing the turn of events, “That’s right! Look that reference up and smoke it.” he wisecracked getting into a stance._

_“Why you snarky little-“_

_Against many better judgements they started to spar in the garage. The sound of clashing blades and chuckles ringing through the enclosed space._

_At one point Stricklander had to fling a knife to deflect a hit that could cause the weird Merlin concoction to spill. It left him open._

_Though what Stricklander felt wasn’t a beat from the hilt of Daylight or a hit, but rather - a hug._

_Stricklander looked up at Jim (that’s right, he was so much taller now), and hugged his star pupil in return._

_No other words were needed._

 

Returning to the present he wondered if Jim, in his new state, would now enjoy the idea of ortolan bunting. He made a mental note to ask the next chance he had. It was sure to make for a good joke at least.

 

As for the avoidance of his familiar though; being the founder of Orbona House he could only keep his distance for so long.

Like most things it took time, but Stricklander was soon able to feel comfortable visiting the real Waltolomew Stricklander (whose parents were long since dead). He’d end up visiting the child every day, and as the Orbona House prospered it wasn’t uncommon to visit and see Stricklander reading to toddlers with a little Waltolomew bouncing on his knee.

Through the basement there was a passage that lead to the old Janus Order (now cleaned and with less dead bodies). Refurbished as a space of therapy and refuge to any half-breed that wanted it. A safe space to talk, and feel. It was challenging for a lot of them, to feel at ease that there was an actual support system in place that didn’t have a risk of a knife in the back (though fights would still break out now and then).

Stricklander himself could only manage the meetings so many times, and sometimes-wished Nomura was there to help, and sometimes he missed Otto.

As for the day-to-day, umbrellas and glamour masks were used to walk in the day (despite half the town already knowing of their existence, there could always be visitors…and after the Eternal Night Arcadia was already on thin ice).

 

As for Dr. Barbara Lake and Walter Stricklander, well…

Despite their rekindling in the rush and adrenaline of before during and after The Eternal Night, these two passing ships in the night needed time. So this time when they would get together it would be on a healthier standing. Reinforcing their friendship as a good foundation.

They’d text on occasion, plan lunch dates, maybe a movie. Which would evolve into dinner dates, picnics, walks together, and the occasional staying at the other’s residency as the months would pass.

Barbara would check in on Stricklander at the Orbona House bearing gifts and motherly advice. Stricklander would somehow sneak lunches in the good doctor’s office for her to find with little notes and infantile drawings made by the children. Helping each other through dark spells: when Barbara would miss Jim so much it’d ache, or when Stricklander would break down with his own existential crisis.

And it worked, and kept working, and growing.

 

It was during one such visit to the Orbona House that Barbara spotted Stricklander doing something she considered remarkable.

She was on her way to pick him up from the Orbona House, having made dinner plans. Karenna, one of the changelings that worked there, directed Barbara to one of the nurseries (sometimes jokingly called the pebble room or rookery).

She heard it before she saw it.

“Goodnight, my angel. Now it is time to sleep.” The tune was so low and soft; she was terrified of making a loud noise as if it would break some spell. “And still so many things I want to say. Remember all the songs you sang for me.”

Barbara peaked behind the door now, and held her breath.

“When we went sailing on an emerald bay.” It was Stricklander singing ever so softly to Waltolomew in his arms.

She hardly ever saw Stricklander sing, less than ever in troll form, his voice was like Tom Waits but a few octaves higher.

A little chubby hand wrapped around one of his fingers. She stepped into the nursery some, though it didn’t seem like he noticed, “And like a boat out on the ocean. I’m rocking you to sleep.” She stepped closer; he glanced at her teary eyed with an inviting smile, which was further extended by one of his wings that reached out to her.

“The water’s dark and deep, inside this ancient heart.” Taking the invite with a ducked smile she stepped closer still, and looked over his shoulder, watching a very heavy lidded Waltolomew on the cusp of sleep. It made her think of Jim, “You’ll always be a part of me.”

Resting her head on his shoulder they swayed together, his massive wings slowly enwrapping the three of them. Stricklander sang the rest of Billy Joel’s song ‘Lullaby’, and Barbara hummed along.

Only when they were sure Waltolomew was thoroughly asleep did they move from their position, though both still humming for good measure.She helped open the blankets and the time worn changeling placed the babe in its mini modern cot. A little maine coon stuffed animal tucked beside him.

Barbara gestured at the stuffed animal, noting how new it was. Stricklander didn’t meet her eyes, but by now she was able to tell when he was blushing (or the troll blushing equivalent) the glow in his eyes emanating ever so brighter over his cheeks.

Stricklander still had a few more hurtles to overcome about his familiar, one of which is feeling worthy enough to even consider adopting.

Sure young babes were adorable, but they too will age and what then? He had fought in countless wars, been in terrifying situations of stress, but this – but parenthood, now that was infinitely more terrifying and not a thing to take lightly. Sure many a time he played the role of mentor, tutor, teacher – but he didn’t have to live with the child afterwards he could always move on and the children would move on. And sure the thought of Waltolomew one day being adopted and spirited off to live somewhere else made his insides ache and heart break…but that would be for the best, wouldn’t it? Yes it was important to repay the debt of living your familiar’s life, but adopting them for that reason alone - he thought that selfish. _No, one should consider the best option for the child_ , he’d reason with himself.

And yet, during his day-to-day Stricklander would find himself mentally musing on names and daydreaming on colleges and professions for the little Waltolomew. Perhaps offer a name change, or nickname…gift him one of his own? Perhaps Wallace, he had a lot of fun living with the name Wallace. Certainly one of his happier past lifetimes, maybe the name had some luck in it, and that luck would pass on to his familiar. From there Stricklander would start to think of what region in the world he popped out of the fetch, maybe a name from there…it was so long ago…Walther was another good name. Though too close to Walter…Walter Jr?

He was in the throws of his mental scales when he felt a soft albeit larger hand on his. His brows unfurled as he looked up at Barbara, her nose was a little pink, but my how those eyes sparkled like a beach city’s lights reflected on the ocean waves. That same hand moved to relocate itself on his cheek, he leaned into it.

“You okay?” she mouthed.

He nodded, and felt her thumb rub at his cheekbone.

“Thank you.” He mouthed back giving Waltolomew a final tuck in. Barbara moved the stuffed animal to be placed a little closer to the child’s arm. They shared another smile, and an embrace before silently sidestepping out of the nursery.

Hand in hand, descending the stairs another changeling, Leon, approached the two, offering Stricklander his glamour mask and umbrella.

“Um. Sir…you’ve been informed of the potential parents coming tomorrow, yes? To look over the children in room Orion?”

Barbara’s brows furrowed…wasn’t that the room..?

“Indeed, is there any trouble? Something we should be concerned about from a background check?” Stricklander asked while placing the glamour mask on and avoiding Barbara’s gaze.

“No..no all is fine with that…its just…the family Phillips will be part of the party…the ones who expressed intere-“

“Yes yes-“ Stricklander interrupted, regretting placing the glamour mask so soon as his agitated expression was harder to hide now. Barbara’s eyes were wide as saucers now.

“Sir, we can’t keep having them jump through hoops. Everything checks out, they have the resources, finances, healthy living and rela-“

“Walt-“

“Good show then, and I wish the family Phillips happy viewing tomorrow.” Interrupting them both, while doing a bad job at hiding how shaken he was. He offered his arm to Barbara without looking at her, “Shall we?”

Barbara, not at all pleased and with motivation to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later took his arm in a huff. This discussion was far from over, though tactically better-done elsewhere.

“Goodnight then Leon, you’re doing wonderfully.”

“Thank you for the heads up.” Piped up Barbara shooting a look at Stricklander who improvised a cough.

“Goodnight Karenna.” He called over his shoulder, Barbara waving.

 

The car ride to dinner was noxiously quiet. On Barbara’s end she was thinking of how best to approach Stricklander about the Phillips family, and if he really wanted to watch them take/adopt Waltolomew. On Stricklander’s end, he was trying to convince himself Waltolomew would be better off with the Phillips. They were humans like him, it would be the closest thing to a normal life after centuries of sleeping and giggling in a hanging crib in the Darklands.

It was easier to hide the elephant in the room in a public dinner setting. Just barely managing to keep their reservation. (While on the way Stricklander could have sworn Barbara was driving intentionally slower than usual.)

Their conversations tittered on the casual as their silverware clicked with ever growing tension.

Barbara was giving him the chance to address the impending discussion, but as dinner went on realized it was going to have to be her to bring it up.

“..and so I said to him, _walnut_ today?!” came the tail end of Stricklander’s joke with a snort.

Finally the elephant in the room tooted its trunk.

“Are you really going to let Waltolomew be adopted?”

Stricklander grew silent, and was suddenly very thirsty for some water, buying himself time to respond.

“Walter, I’ve seen the way you dote on him over the rest of the kids…I mean they’re too young to notice the favoritism but literally everyone else in that building – myself included, isn’t.” she continued.

Time’s up, and so was his water. Sticklander sighed.

“I’ve been thinking of it, really,” she gave him a look, “really! Its been hanging over me for…for a while now…I…” Stricklander rubbed his brows and leaned forward tiredly. Barbara set her silverware aside patiently. “But this is the better option…the healthier one…”

The words, find the words.

“I won’t deny my affection for the little pebble, but-“

A helicopter was flying over the restaurant (perhaps one of the hospital’s emergency choppers), its whirling propellers resounding to a tempo that made Stricklander’s heart quicken. Derailing his train of thought like a fog-horn. 

Barbara realized just how close to the hospital the restaurant was, discerning this wasn’t the best location to talk about such a heavy topic, and patiently waited as Stricklander counted to ten. She offered a hand, he took it with a squeeze. With her other hand, Barbara called over a waiter for the check.

“Where was I?” eyes fluttering, the restaurant felt all the louder now. “The…oh yes! The Phillips, they’re decent people they’d give…ah…? Are we leaving? We haven’t even finished-“ Barbara was signing a receipt.

“We’ll take it to go.” She cooed.

“Where?”

“A better thinking spot.” Stricklander looked like he was about to protest, and Barbara added a firm, but not unkind “ _Walter._ ” Her deep blue eyes a mixture of steeling and tender.

The car ride up to the overhanging cliff side view of Arcadia was quiet, yet a different kind of quiet a soft suspenseful sort. By some twist of irony Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain was playing on the radio during the end of the drive. 

She parked her car, and they sat in silence, their eyes on the horizon of the light glow Arcadia gave off.

Stricklander opened his mouth to finally say something. Barbara pulled out a few blankets from the backseat and quietly exited the car. With an internal sigh and fond smile, he followed.

“I love him, as if…as if he were my own.” Stricklander finally admitted out loud, Barbara glanced at him, felt the weight of his words, and smoothed the blankets out on the ground. “It’d be imbecilic to try and deny it any further.”

She gave a kind smirk-y face that read a long the lines of, _Oh you were trying to hide that?_ He gave her a friendly nudge.

Stricklander sat beside her, and let himself be wrapped up in the same blanket as hers. “I…often fantasize over a life of raising him as my own. Not just as a gesture of penance, but with true parental heartfelt intentions.” He looked up at the stars and mirthfully laughed at himself, “I even thought of _names_! Nicknames! Imagined what kind of lunches to pack for school, how to help with lessons! Filled out half an adoption form-”

This caused a reaction from Barbara, but she was clever enough to deter her words.

“Not to mention perused some of my old baby books. The ones I didn’t donate, still in my house.”

“You noticed that?” he could have sworn he was stealthy about it.

She gave a kindhearted smile, he sighed and examined the folds of their shared blanket.

A cool breeze washing over them as the near by trees rustled with the sound akin to a distant waterfall.

“What’s stopping you Walt?”

He inhaled deeply and set his eyes on the horizon, his voice giving a slight tremor, “He deserves better. He should be raised with his own kind. It’s…it’s for the best, he’ll be happier, experience normality to its finest. To insist on raising him just because, what, I love him? That…it’s a grand thought, but selfish. What about him? Teaching children is infinitely different than _raising_ one. He’s cute and adorable now, manageable even, but when he grows…I mean they don’t stay that way forever, what if I don’t do a good job? What if he turns out to be a bad kid? I’ve seen the kindest families turn out some real bad eggs in my tutoring spree…and who’s to say I’m kind? Who’s to say I’m even worthy of taking up such a mantle?! That- that’s a life! A full blown moldable yet chaotic _life_! A life that I could only help grow, not grow for him, he’d be in control of his own actions…and, what if he learns the wrong actions what if I cause some trauma onto him?! A child isn’t a spur of the moment commitment its…its _lifelong_! Humans can live to be so long these days and what if…what if I do something wrong?”

Barbara said nothing, just listened. The words hung in the growing silence. Stricklander bowed his head.

“The Phillips are a good family. They’ll know what to do…they’ll…” his voice croaked.

Barbara slowly rested her head on his shoulder, and felt his head lean on hers ever so slightly with a tremor.

“Walter…I wish more parents would give the same consideration you do when it comes to having kids. Its not an easy choice, it’s a big choice. The fact alone that, that you feel all of this, that you fear this yet still try to do what’s right for Waltolomew? It’s beyond ‘grand’ its…noble. Every potential parent should be asking those questions…I asked those same questions myself when I was pregnant with Jim.” Their hands entwined beneath the blankets, she gave a comforting squeeze, “I was in the middle of med school - I even contemplated abortion…I mean who am I to try raising a kid? The thought of saving lives felt so small compared to raising one…my life would change dramatically, would the child even be raised in a proper environment?!…but it just…didn’t sit right with me…and up until the last possible moment…” Barbara squeezed his hand again a little tighter, feeling more like trying to hold onto Stricklander to stay here instead of being sucked into the whirlwind of the past. He gave a reassuring squeeze back, thumbing her hand some.

“I was thankful to have the option available, but in my heart of hearts I just couldn’t go through with it…and I’ve never been happier. No matter how hard it was.” She took a moment to breathe and looked up at Stricklander, “Now…the choice you’re facing isn’t 100% similar, I know, but its still the choice of…well...to parent or not to parent. You have every right to not take on raising Waltolomew, and who’s to say, maybe it is for the best that the Phillips raise him, and maybe they would actually do a better job, that it’d be for the best for both of you.”

Stricklander held his breathe, staring at her, she continued voice soft, “But I do think you should give yourself more credit Walter. You’d care for him no matter what the struggle? Even if he decides to choose things you’re not comfortable with? Even if a disability manifests itself? Not disown him if things and plans don’t entirely go your way?”

“Yes, yes, I’d never-“

“Then you’re just as qualified as the Phillips, Walt. Maybe even more.”

Stricklander’s breath choked up in his throat, setting his gaze on the horizon as an indescribable something washed over him.

“And you won’t be alone…you think I wouldn’t pitch in and help every now and then? There’s no way I’m risking you accidentally putting baking soda instead of baby powder on that tiny rump.” She added, trying to raise the heavy mood, and his spirits.

His laugh was low and breathy, giving her a playful nudge, she nudged back, and the silence set in again.

“Take the night to think about it, really think about it…” pressing a kiss on his cheek before she leaned back on the blanket and looked up at the stars above, giving his hand another squeeze, “I’m here for you.”

Stricklander looked down at his favorite human- no - favorite being with such fondness he felt his stone self would crumble from it. Leaning down he bumped his forehead ever so gently on hers, doing a little dance with their noses. She giggled a bit, and they shared a kiss on the lips.

“Thank you.” He exhaled.

Her ‘you’re welcome’ was demonstrated through another soft kiss.

 

“..al-er..” came a voice in the distance of Stricklander’s subconscious, “…alter…” something was shaking him now.

“Walter, wake up!”

Oh, that was Barbara’s voice...

“ **Yes?** ” was his trollish reply still in his sleepy stupor as he felt Barbara uncover the two of them. Her eyes peered down at him, blue and shimmering within the frame of her red hair, “Varbara, what…” he cleared his voice.

“Walter what time are the parents visiting the Orbona House?”

Stricklander rolled to the side, and felt her warm hands helping him prop himself up.

“Ah…8:30…I believe.”

“Its already 9!”

This woke him right on up as his gut felt a twist and punch, ice seizing his aching spine.

“ _What?!_ ”

“I-I tried setting an alarm, but my phone ran out of battery and-“ she was stopped by a fervent kiss. She had absolutely nothing to apologize for. In fact quite the contrary, he had everything to thank her for.

Standing up he looked up at the sky, partly cloudy, it’d be risky but if he kept to the shade.

“Walt what are you…?”

Stricklander took off his glamour mask, his wings spreading in a blaze. Barbara placed a hand on her hair to keep it from blowing every which way. Reading his intentions in his actions.

He moved towards her with the aim of carrying her, “No, you’ll be faster without me. I’ll meet you there.” Quickly scrambling to collect the blankets, “Go to him!”

He nodded and with a squat and single beat of his wings was air born, causing Barbara’s blankets to twist about her in the wind.

_And if you don’t love me now/You will never love me again_

Like a green javelin through the sky Stricklander soared and twisted through the air. It was becoming increasingly harder to stay in the shade the closer Stricklander got to Arcadia. Almost burning his leg and wing in the process.

_I can still hear you saying/ You would never break the chain_

He could hear onlookers ogle, especially when he was closer to the Orbona House. Their voices falling deaf to the wind that rushed passed his own ears.

_(Never break the chain)_

The doors to the Orbona House nearly broke as he spearheaded inside, scratching up the floors with his clawed feet while trying to skid into a stop. Karenna gasped at her desk in surprise.

_Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)_

“Karenna!” he called, beating his wings to stabilize his balance so not to fall over with his momentum. His voice knocked her out of her stupor as she reached under her desk and Frisbee-ed a glamour mask his way. He fumbled, but managed to catch it all the same.

_Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)_

Dawning the guise of humanity he rushed up the stairs, hearing “room 9!” behind him. His lungs were burning and felt a seize at his side. Breathe Stricklander, your body needs air.

_Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)_

Was he on the wrong floor? His shoes echoed and clamored through the hallway, other visiting parents would lean out of passing nurseries. How could he forget his own building structure? No – no there it was. His stomach felt like a glacier

_Chain keep us together (running in the shadow)_

The door to room nine burst open, with a loud trollish, “ **No!** ”

Anne Phillips was holding Waltolomew in her arms, paperwork was on the table, Leon’s arm halfway through the motion of handing a pen to John Phillips.

They all stared at the exasperated and disheveled founder. Leon’s mouth twitched, of relief or nerves it wasn’t sure.

In a singular movement everyone in the room went from looking at Stricklander, to Waltolomew, anticipating the child to start crying at the sudden burst of sound.

The child just blinked at Stricklander, then started making bubbles with his spit with the same glee as an alchemist turning copper into gold.

“He—“ Stricklander pointed at Waltolomew with one hand, and adjusted his hair in another, “I’m afraid…” the air wouldn’t come fast enough, “…I…don’t…please…” one hand dropped and went to his aching side.

“Ah Mr. Strickler!” Leon swooped in, retracting his arm with the pen completely away from John Phillips, “We were just about to sign some documents. Nothing binding has happened yet of course. Is everything alright?” he walked over patting his boss’s back, while palming a piece of paper in his hand.

Stricklander cleared his throat and made a mental note to give this changeling a raise. While adjusting his jacket lapels Stricklander made it look as though he pulled the palmed paper from inside his inner jacket pocket.

“The child’s been spoken for I’m afraid.” He unfolded the paper, it was all the adoption documents Stricklander filled out some time ago while in the throws of previous ‘to parent or not to parent’ moments. His heart of hearts clearly making an answer. He did a bad job at containing his own surprise at seeing it, “Spoken for!”…he could have sworn he had trashed it…

Stricklander made another note to triple Leon’s pay, who simply beamed at him from behind the dumbfounded Phillips.

“What?” went Anne, looking down sadly at Waltolomew, “Oh…”

“Why weren’t we notified sooner?” went John, rightfully miffed.

“Yes well…” Stricklander’s hand was shaking, “I sho-“

“Should have double checked my filing!” pitched in Leon, shaking his head, “I’m sorry Sir. It won’t happen again. This is an inexcusable mistake, especially with Orbona being so new. Think of the integrity.”

Stricklander caught on, but in truth he just wanted to whisk Waltolomew from Anne’s arms.

“Indeed! Expect a firm talking to after this.” Stricklander’s mouth was dry, he tried to wet his lips while extending a consoling hand to the Phillips to shake, “I’m so very very sorry about all of this. I could only _imagine_ how much you were looking forward to this.” Failing at putting on a sympathetic morose face.

“Isn’t there anything you can do as the fou-“ started John mid handshake.

“Nope! Out of my hands I’m afraid.”

Leon coughed signaling Stricklander to do a better job at playing the ‘pacifying founder’ role, lest they have a biblical splitting of the baby on their hands.

“Ah…but, I’m sure there must be a child we’re taking care of that pulls at your heart strings. If none from the Orion room, perhaps Aquarius?” Stricklander offered steepling his hands together, while Leon took Waltolomew from Anne’s arms placatingly.

“Oh..oh well…I suppose…we’re already here…” reasoned Anne looking from Waltolomew to her husband, who nodded in begrudging agreement.

“Splendid! Now..oh I’ll take care of him Leon - now why don’t you show the good family Phillips the way, hm?” Waltolomew blinked with obliviousness, and moderate amusement at being passed around from arm to arm to arm. Looking up at Stricklander’s recognizable face with a ringing giggle. Stricklander’s ears slowly turned pink.

“Of course, Sir. This way, if you please.” motioned Leon as he held the door open for the Phillips pair.

The instant the door clicked close Stricklander cooed and tickled the little Waltolomew who occasionally tried to stick a finger up his nose.

“No no no…who’s a little pebble? who’s the little pebble? Your room is going to have so much natural sunlight, yes indeed, yes indeed, I’ll move around under blankets, or an umbrella tank for how sunny it’ll be! Oh and stars! Yes stars on the ceiling that glow at night! Did you know you’re a baby? Oh-hoho but look at that grip!” Waltolomew’s hand clenched at his fingers making a tiny fleshy fist. Stricklander would move his hand in a pantomime of being punched by the little guy, “So strong! Ouch! Ouch!”

This went on for sometime.

The door burst open again so fast it defensively caused Stricklander’s eyes to glow through the glamour mask.

“I went, five miles over the speed limit! Walt - I saw the floor at the entrance are you ok-” came the exasperated breath from Barbara, only to turn into a high pitched gleeful sound of joy at seeing Stricklander with Waltolomew in his arms “Walter!!” she ran up to him.

“Barbara!” pressing his forehead against hers, and curious little fingers finding her nostrils. This caused Barbara to lean back with a snort, unable to stop smiling.

“No no no,” he cooed, rubbing his little fingers incase they found anything up there, “look at you being an excavator!” Waltolomew found the word, or maybe the way Stricklander said it hilarious. Which prompted him to keep repeating ‘excavator’ for the next five minutes with chime ins from Barbara as well.

 

A year and a half later, Stricklander and his little ward had moved in with Barbara, officially.

Initially it was a temporary decision as he tried to find a better apartment to raise his familiar (the old one being hopeless to baby proof as there were so many left over traps set not even Stricklander could remember them all- and didn’t want to risk it), but as time went on it became so comfortable, so tender, so domestic, so… _right_ for the three to live together that the idea of separation was borderline painful.

So together they stayed, and partners they became.

 

It was one of those chilly summer nights in Arcadia. The crickets were giving their chorus as the fire in their new fire pit crackled and shimmied giving a toasty glow to the scene with aid from little fairy lights in mason jars strategically placed on the walk way and around them. There was lingering perfume of lemon caused by a placed peel in the fire to burn.

Stricklander was just finishing reading out loud The Tale of Mr. Tod by Beatrix Potter to one sleepy Wally Wallace, while simultaneously rubbing Barbara’s foot (the three of them sharing a rather large hammock).His long lanky leg rocked the shared hammock ever so gently.

“Then Peter and Benjamin told their story - “ a glance at Wally while slowly closing the book, “but they had not waited long enough to be able to tell the end of the battle between Tommy Brock and Mr. Tod.” his eyes drifted up to a contentedly comfortable Barbara, “Honestly I could start saying any silly thing at this point…out cold.”

Barbara hummed and stretched her arms, the fire’s glow causing a reflective reaction on her glasses. Stricklander kept slowly rocking the three of them.

“Stone cold?” she beamed impishly.

Stricklander pointed his foot at her accusingly, “You!” he gave his toes a wiggle for emphasis, “You’re the cause of bringing that joke back in Orbona House!”

“Was it ever really gone?” she giggled catching his foot with her hand.

“To think Leon blamed me!”

“You have quite the wrap sheet, honey.” she wiggled her own toes at him, “He hasn’t known me for centuries like he knows you.”

Stricklander hummed, “Suppose so.”

Barbara stopped her toe wiggling, “Gosh, centuries worth of punning around…you could write a book.”

Stricklander had to suppress his laugh not wanting to wake Wally with his chest shaking, “A History of Puns.”

“Puns a Collected History.”

“Ooo that does sound nice, how about - The Pun Chronicles through History.”

They both hummed in a slightly high pitched way considering the titles.

“Nah Puns a Collected History.” they both agreed with a shared chuckle.

The silence shared was comfortable, Wally’s breath low now starting to drool on Stricklander’s chest.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” asked Barbara.

“Which time?” he asked thoughtlessly, dabbing at Wally’s drool.

She rolled her eyes, taking it as a self deprecating joke about the binding spell scenario. “You know what I mean.”

He did now, looking up at her and her twinkling eyes realizing what he said, “Ah…well who could forget the loveliest vision of fatigue and stress ever to walk into a class room late?” he mused.

Barbara poked his side ever so gently with her foot in mocked indignation before looking up at the stars romantically, “We’ve come a long way.”

Stricklander followed her gaze to the inky depths of space. With modern day light pollution it wasn’t so easy to see the cradled stars above, but despite it some still shone through. Their twinkling glints shining through time and space. With a side ways glance at Barbara who smiled ever so tenderly to the stars, Stricklander thanked them (finding the stars better suited for thanks and praise than The Pale Lady these days).

Stricklander was never someone who any would call religious, but between the glinting spacetime eyes of hers, the tugging at what he identified as his soul, Stricklander considered the possibility of Reincarnation being a human magic of sorts. Or vaguely put the re-occurrence of a soul growing obliviously older (was it oblivious? He didn’t know).He never expressed his little theory, he never felt that he had to. These two metaphorical ships passing in the night, now moored together in their sailing. It was a nice little warm thought that fluttered in his breast calling, ‘Oh old friend to sail at your side now! What an honor. I’ve missed you’

Stricklander collected Wally in his arms and carefully sat up (not wanting to tip the hammock), closing the distance between himself and the magical human brilliance that was Barbara.

“The journey was a long one,” he planted a kiss on the corner of her smiling mouth, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

She hummed a throaty chuckle and gently wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, planting her own feet on the grass now.

“To bed?” he offered pulling her up with ease while straightening himself.

“To bed.” she smiled with a coo in Wally’s direction.

Barbara picked up the book, Stricklander adjusted the sleeping Wally in his arms, and after administering the appropriate fire protocol to douse the fire pit, the three of them entered into the house leaving the stars and their twinkling outside for other nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs to Consider:  
> Billy Joel - Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel)  
> Fleetwood Mac - The Chain  
> Simon & Garfunkel - Old Friends/Bookends
> 
> Honestly I think after I finish Terpsichore I’ll write a series either called The Epilogues or Tales from Orbona House - or something along those lines haha post season 3 was so much fun to write! So cathartic too! Honestly 9 would have been much longer than it already is if I didn’t curb myself


End file.
